All of Me
by lumosmaximamyworld
Summary: A songfic inspired by John Legend's "All of me." Happens during the war. EWE, very non-compliant with the epilogue.


**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THE CHARACTERS. THEY ALL BELONG TO THE WONDERFUL JO ROWLING. ONLY THE PLOT HERE IS MINE. I DON'T OWN THE SONG EITHER. IT BELONGS TO JOHN LEGEND.**

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"AAAAAHHHH! P-PLEASE…SSSTOOOPP!"

Her painful screams as the demented woman looms over her, tortures her, and carves the foul word onto her arm, rings through the drawing room of the foreboding manor.

He looks on, staring at the writhing woman on the floor with frozen steel-grey eyes. He watches as his insane aunt draws blood from the once flawless skin. He continues observing, his face expressionless, effectively hiding the turmoil he feels inside. He just stands there, not doing a thing. What wouldn't he give to help her, but he couldn't. He is afraid.

Yes, you could call him a coward. He'll willingly admit to it. He is a coward when he couldn't kill the old man, a coward when he didn't refuse to take that devastating scar on his forearm, and now, a coward because he isn't saving someone he wants so desperately to be safe. Call him a coward, but he'd rather have the slim chance that someone else would save her and take her to safety than risk killing all of them in a moment of attempted heroism.

From where he stands, he can only hope, _wish_, with his entire being that somebody would come soon to save and protect her. He knows that at this point, only one can keep her safe: her best friend, his schoolyard nemesis. He couldn't do any of the things that Potter could do for her; he can only hope and wish her the best though she knows none of it… time could not go by any slower as he waits for the miracle to come.

Finally, just as the fire in those chocolate-brown eyes that he loves so much is extinguished, he hears them. Before he knows it, they are fighting for her, though he is on the other side, of course. They lose, and he is relieved. With the help of a house-elf, he watches them apparate away to safety, his last glimpse of her is in the redhead's arms. He could swear she looks at him with disappointment before she is whisked away. His small heart shatters into nothingness then.

An hour later finds him alone in his room, on the floor, knees drawn to his chest, hands over his ears, and rocking back and forth, trying to block out his demons. Or in this case, her—her voice, her screams, her last words. No matter how hard he tries, he couldn't seem to be able to get her painful screams out of his head. It is eating him from the inside out and if he doesn't stop it soon, he'd be no less than a shell of a man. Taking a deep breath (or rather, twenty), he stands up, takes out a piece of parchment and quill, settles on his bed, and he begins to write a letter he'll probably never have a chance to give her, as images of her in his past flashes through his mind.

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The first time he learned of and marveled at her intelligence was during their first year. Potions was not an easy subject, and Professor Snape definitely was not an easy man to impress, and yet she had managed to do just that. Even he, someone who prided himself at being particularly good at Potions at such a young age, was amazed at her ability to answer every question thrown at her. It was that moment when he found himself inexplicably drawn to her—her eyes that shined bright when she absorbed knowledge, her habit of chewing her bottom lip when she was concentrating, and her unruly curls that bounced up and down along with her hand when she knew the answer. Yes, she was very enticing to him. She, who paralleled him in his intelligence, wit, and mind like no other, fascinated him completely. Yes, at eleven years of age, he was very intrigued in this girl from Gryffindor but alas, their friendship was never meant to be for he was a Slytherin, a Pureblood, and she, well he soon found out, was a Muggle-born (or Mudblood as his father has so often taught him). It was a shame, they would have been great friends, but he was stuck to admiring from afar. His father would never forgive him for befriending a witch of such descent. Besides, she would never be his friend now, not after what he said to her friend, Weasley. No, he'd just have to settle with listening and watching her smart comments whenever he could in class and during mealtimes. And he would have to deal with the glares she sent his way as her hatred for him slowly grew, as she got closer to Potter and Weasley, and further away from him. He'd lost his chance at a great friend the moment he insulted her two friends, and he knew it, just a little too late.

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Second year comes around and everything goes downhill from there. He had only wanted to beat Potter, only jealous because he got on the Quidditch team his first year and he wanted to impress her. But it had gone wrong, all wrong. He hadn't meant for the foul word to slip out, really he hadn't. She was too different from the rest of them to be called such a word. She was too kind, too smart, too compassionate, too pretty to be called that, but it slipped out of his mouth anyway. The moment he heard it come from him, he wanted to take it back. He wanted to bury himself in the ground for saying such thing to her. He wanted to rewind time and made sure he never ever even had the urge to say that word. But it had already slipped out and there wasn't a thing he could do about it. He could see the hurt in her eyes and he wanted so much to hug her, comfort her, and tell her a million times that he was sorry, that he didn't know what he was thinking when he said it. The hate for him that was burning in her eyes tore him to pieces, enough to drive him insane. He can't imagine what must have been going through her mind as she stared at him with those deep brown eyes of hers, slowly brimming with tears. He found himself wondering about all the insults that could have been going through that intelligent head of hers, and he knew that whatever she said to him would never make up for the one word he called her. Before she could speak, however, her redheaded friend raised his wand and attempted to fire a curse at him, but it backfired and hit the owner of said wand instead. That took her attention off him and for some reason, he felt his heart sink a little in his chest as she looked away from him to tend to her friend. Perhaps it was the quickly diverted glare that she shot his way, but he'd soon felt that negative attention from her was better than no attention at all. He found that that was the only way he could see her deeps pools of brown, albeit blazing with fire and hate aimed at him, rather than not being able to see her look at him at all. His heart sank a little more when she walked far, far away from him, toward the oaf she called a friend. Soon, he found that he'd do anything to get her attention on him.

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He knew, right then and there that she would loathe him for all eternity. He had had his father kill that awful monster Hippogriff, even if he knew how much the animal meant to that joke of a professor, and in turn, what it meant to her. He didn't need to hear her insults to know how much she had come to hate him. It broke his heart but he knew it was his own fault. He saw her stalk toward him, her beautiful features contorted in rage. She was livid. She pointed her wand at him, threatening to hex him into oblivion. Her chocolate eyes were ablaze with fiery hatred and her insults burned him to the core. "Foul, loathsome, evil little cockroach" she'd called him, with her wand pointed at his throat. He would've gladly died at her wand then and there if the last part of her insult hadn't gotten to him. _Evil_ she called him. He was never aiming to be _evil_ in her mind. No, maybe detestable, but never evil, at least not to her. So that's what she thought of him… his cracked heart broke just a bit more. He whimpered a little, not out of cowardice, but out of heartbreak because she thought he was something that was so far from what he wanted her to think. Please, he is not evil. Just as he thought she'd curse him by now, again, the redhead stopped her and she draws back. He's relieved and sad at the same time as he realizes that the only opinions she cared about, the only voice she'd listen to in her moment of distress was her friends, never him. No, she never heard him, never heard his heart yearn for her. Then, she turned around and slapped him. He reeled back in shock as the physical contact stung his face. It wasn't from the pain that had him shrinking back—it was the burn of her skin on his. Although it was fleeting and out of spite and an aim to cause pain, he couldn't have been happier. The feel of her palm across his cheeks lingered and he hoped it would never disappear. He relished at the feel of her hand though he knew it was wrong. He knew she had meant to hurt him, and he'd deserved the hit after what he'd done but he couldn't help the twitch of his mouth. She _touched _him, to harm him, but nevertheless, touched him. And yet he couldn't smile at her action for it'd be wrong. He couldn't act on his impulse to hug her because that'd be strange. All he could do was walk away from her, feeling the exact spot on his face where she had hit him with a false scowl on his face. He lost her, he knew, but at that moment, he'd won in his heart.

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He knew he was in love with her in fourth year the moment he saw her walk down the stairs toward her date. He knew who her date was and he was happy for her. She deserved the best. Viktor Krum was a good choice for her. As far as he knew, Krum was a gentleman and he was not. As far as she knew, he was a selfish, arrogant, _evil_ jerk that she knew at school. He was nothing more to her but a tormentor. But to him, she was so much more than a bookworm. She was beautiful, an angel, the light in his dark life (and growing darker by the minute, he knew). He watched her dance the night away, her periwinkle dress robes highlighting the bright shine in her eyes. She was breathtaking and he knew he would never be worthy of her. He watches her blush to Krum's jokes, twirls in his arms, and laughed through the night. The soft sounds of her laughter put him into a trance. He had never in his life, heard something so magical. Even surrounded by magic, he could only render the sound of her laughter as magic that night. But he saw everything break down in an instant. She was talking to her two friends and suddenly the beautiful flush on her face from excitement turned to a red burst of anger. Something was wrong, he knew. He'd never seen her so angry at her friends and by the looks of it, it seemed like it was something the giant redheaded git had said. He didn't know what it was but he saw her storm out of the room and he had decided to follow her. His heart broke for her when he saw her break down on the foot of the grand staircase. He never saw her cry and when she did, it took all he had not to wrap his arms around her and comfort her. It took all of him not to have her sob on his shoulders until her tears subsided, all of him not to punch that terrible idiot because that would just make matters worse. Instead, he stood there in a dark corner, watching the girl he loved cry her eyes out over someone else. But she was still breathtakingly beautiful, despite the tearstains on her blushing cheeks. The tear trails on her delicate face tore his heart apart. He wanted to tell her she was worth more than what that slimy git told her, that she deserves more than him. He wanted to tell her how much he loved her, how much he yearned to hold her in his arms and tell her she's beautiful. But he knows this aspiration is impossible. She hates him, _hates_ him with her entire being, _hates _him from the ends of the Earth and back. Yes, he knew that as much as that idiotic redhead hurt her tonight, it will never come close to what he'd done to her the past four years. What he'd done to her was unredeemable and unforgivable. He knew it well and he knew it was foolish to ask for forgiveness. All he could do was stand and watch her in a dark alcove until her tears exhausted her and she dragged herself off to bed. He could only hope she will one day know that he would always be there trying to make sure she'd never spend another night shedding her tears alone.

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This will be the last somewhat peaceful and normal year, he knew. Next year won't be so easy. The Dark Lord was back but the whole of the Wizarding World refused to acknowledge this fact. The only people who believed the Boy Wonder and Dumbledore was Weasley, his clan, their friends, and _her_. Of course she believed Potter, he was her best friend. As for him, he only hoped that this year would pass by smoothly in coexistence with her before everything they once knew broke apart. They were both made prefects this year, along with Weasley and Parkinson, of course, but he only had eyes for her. He knew she'd be made prefect. After all, who else could surpass her intelligence and hard work in that damned house of bravery? He couldn't stop staring at her the entire tedious prefect meeting on the train. But, of course, she paid no heed to him. She never did. She was thoroughly focused on the lecture on how to be a prefect and he watched as her eyes glowed when she began absorbing information. He vowed then, that as a prefect, he'd tried to at least be a better person this year, for her. He needed to leave at least one not-so-bad impression of who he was to her that year before his life was swallowed in darkness. She was the only thing that could possibly keep him from thinking about all the menacing things to come in his future. He knew what was to come as it was no secret that his father wasn't the greatest and lightest man around. But for now, he let her goodness influence his caged heart. He promised that as long as he was a prefect, he'd try his best to be a decent person, someone she could be okay with. Perhaps she could come to regard him as less despicable. He had looked forward to prefect patrol with her. At the very least he had the excuse to be near her without repercussions. She was the only person to keep him from insanity and dangerous thoughts about the future that loomed ahead of him. He'd fill his mind thoughts of her, using her as a distraction, a lovely escape from what's to come. He'd use this prefect opportunity to be sure that her loathing for him stopped short before it became too late. He knew she'd never see him as anything but a bully but maybe, just maybe, that'll be the extent of her negative thoughts about him.

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It had finally come to this. After that night, there would be no redemption for him. He lost her forever, he knew. After that night, he'd be nothing more than the evil man who killed her beloved headmaster. After that night, even the slightest bit of hope he had for a small presence in her heart would fall off the Astronomy Tower, along with the last of his childhood innocence and the body of his former headmaster. He knew, as he stared at the cruel— unwanted—scar on his forearm, that his path was sealed. He knew what he had to do, where he had to go, what road he had to follow. How could he not walk down that road when his father was such a persistent follower of the renowned Dark Lord? He knew that his father's mistake in the Ministry would cost him—cost him his life, his innocence, his possible chance at a better life. She and he were on opposite sides of the war, he knew. She was too righteous for him, and his soul and future were too dark for her. He could only hope that she'd stay safe when all this escalates to ultimate destruction. Perhaps her hatred of him would keep her away from danger. Any sensible being would know that anyone near him now would be in immediate danger. He knew, this darkness was for him to suffer, and suffer alone. His sole purpose was to serve as punishment for his father's failure. He glanced at the clock in the Hospital Wing one last time. It was almost time before the last shreds of peace were destroyed. Only a few more moments before the destruction he was fated to perform would be carried out and all he could think about was her. He thought about what had landed him in the Hospital Wing in the first place. Potter had fired a curse at him in the bathroom that led him to bleed out from flesh wounds. He ought to be angry at that but honestly, he hadn't felt more relieved. If life had been fair, he would've been permitted to die then; maybe if he had, all this would never begin and she'd be left with a mild memory of a bully, rather than a murderer. Alas, life was cruel, and he was alive, about to commit a forced crime. Her beautiful face flashed through mind as he gathered his wits about him. He saw her bushy brown hair, her deep pools of soulful brown, her flawless skin only blemished by endearing freckles, her sweet smile, and her lush pink lips. To think that he would only be left of her memory until they had to face each other on opposite sides of the war, it took all of him not to break down. She'd never see him eye to eye again and he knew he'd never get to see her smile again after that night. So with her face in mind, he braced himself for inevitable downfall.

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He can't believe his eyes when he sees her here. Her beautiful face is battered, bloodied, and bruised but she's never looked more radiant to him. The fact that she was here, still fighting, shows him that she was still the strong witch he always knew. It shows him that she is alive and safe, as safe as one could be in times of war. It takes him a moment to realize that she hates him and he is the one on the enemy line. He realizes that as much as he loves her, he couldn't help her, not like she'd let him anyway. He stares at her for a moment longer and turns away before she can see him staring at her. He knows he can love her but never let anyone know. If they knew, she would no longer be safe. But he hasn't seen her in so long, not since that terrible night at the manor. Unable to help himself, he chances at another glance at her. His heart jumps in his chest when their eyes lock. For a moment, they are back in their school days—she hating him and him silently loving her. The familiar loathing in her eyes actually warms his heart a little but, there seems to be something a little more. It looks a little like sympathy, but he cannot be sure. He swallows that lump in his throat when the eye contact lasts too long and makes to look away when he sees the redhead walk toward her to protect her, no doubt, from him. He doesn't blame the bloke, he's done nothing but torment her. They had every right to despise him. He begins to walk away from the pair when _that man's_ cold voice sounded across the castle.

"Harry Potter is dead. He was killed as he ran away trying to save himself while you lay down your loves for him. We bring you his body as proof that your hero is gone. The battle is won. You have lost half of your fighters. My Death Eaters outnumber you, and the Boy Who Lived is finished. There must be no more war. Anyone who continues to resist, man, woman, or child, will be slaughtered, as will every member of their family. Come out of the castle now, kneel before me, and you shall be spared. Your parents and children, your brothers and sisters will live and be forgiven, and you will join me in the new world we shall build together."

Those words ring in his head and his blood freezes. If Potter is dead then no one is safe, especially muggle-borns. His shattered heart strikes a fearful chord as he looks her way. She's in grave danger now, more than ever. He has to think of how to keep her safe, but how? He is utterly powerless and desperate but he sees the gangly Weasley wrap his arm around her as they both head out to the courtyard. Of course, that redhead could keep her safe; he is a pureblood after all. He wallows a little in self-pity when he realizes he can never do anything for her before he too, heads out to face "his" side of the war.

Outside, he sees the truth of it all. Potter is lying there, dead at the madman's feet. The sight demolishes the little hope he has of the Light side winning this drastic war. He looks at her again. She is devastated and he knows there is nothing he can do to stop her broken heart. He begins to gravitate toward her when he hears a voice calling him, beckoning him to come over. It was his mother and father. "Draco, come" they coax. Half of him wants to stay, the other half knows he should go. He briefly glances at her again and begins to walk his destined path. He stumbles forward and he is almost at the edge of the line that separates the Light and the Dark when the voice he doesn't expect to her stops him dead in his tracks.

"No! Draco… no! Please don't go… You're not this person… How could you! How could you force your only son down a path with such a dark future? And just for your own pathetic mistakes… can't you see how torn and tortured he is when he has to choose between being himself and being who he is expected to be…?"

He hears her desperate pleas but he can't quite believe his ears. She loathes him, why is she pleading for him. He dares not turn to look at her. He knows that if he did, his strength to stay away will leave him and he'll run to her, only dragging danger toward her. But in spite of his determination, he sneaks a glance at her. Her eyes are brimming with tears as she lets her own words sink in and he feels the remainder of his heart fly away. Her words shock him and his parents as well. He can tell when he looks at their expressions. But the silence that the shock initiated is disrupted by an outraged scream. He turns to see his deranged aunt pull out her wand and begin screaming foul words.

"HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO THEM LIKE THAT!? YOU FILTHY LITTLE MUDBLOOD! HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO NOBLE PUREBLOODS IS SUCH A TONE… AND IN FRONT OF THE DARK LORD TOO! I SHALL NOT FORGIVE YOUR INSOLENT BEHAVIOR! YOU ARE NOT WORTH THE DIRT UNDER MY FEET AND YOU WILL NOT ESCAPE MY GRASP AGAIN MUDBLOOD!"

He stares at her in controlled rage, anger clouding his mind when he hears her offensive words. His rage turns to fear however, when she threateningly points her wand toward his love and he knows exactly what she is about to do. He needs to save her, he can't let her die. No, he will not let her suffer at the hand of one of his family members again. With a determined mind, he rushes from where he is and tries to push her out of the way just as he hears…

"AVADA KEDAVRA!" The tell-tale green light of the Killing Curse shoots toward him as he finally manages to get her out of harm's way. Before he could react, the spell hits him, right over his heart. Time stops for a moment as everyone begins to register what had just happened. He slowly falls to the ground, as everything around him seems to drag on. He feels so pain, no sensations, just euphoria. He feels darkness envelop him, like a dreamless sleep. He faces her and her eyes are the last thing he sees before he is lost to the world. Her eyes glisten beautifully with tears, every emotion flashing through them but the two that stands out to him. Concern and wonder—hate was not there. She didn't look at him with hate or mirth. No, she looks at him with sorrow and kindness. She didn't loathe him. _She didn't hate him_. This thought and her soulful eyes are the last things to cross his mind before he sleeps forever.

The courtyard looks at the scene in solemn silence for a fraction of a second before the war starts up again. The Boy Who Lived is still alive! Fighting commences and his body is left to lie in a pile of rubble. The fight for the fate of the Wizarding World lasts for a couple of agonizing hours until the opposing force is finally defeated, the once powerful Dark Wizard crumpled into a broken mass on the ground, as pathetic and mortal as any other human being.

Now, the mourning begins. The bodies of loved ones are put together in the Great Hall as the survivors cried for their losses. Everyone who sacrificed is cared for, placing them in as much comfort as possible. Even his body is moved into the Great Hall to join the others. Carefully laid down to rest beside his classmates, his body seems to simply be sleeping. His pale blond hair fell smoothly over his face and his lids covered his soft grey eyes. He finally belongs to the right side, with the Light, with them.

She looks around her, her eyes scanning the room, seemingly searching for something long lost. She sees the dead and their family mourning them, she sees the injured and nurses tending to them, she sees her two best friends and smiles at them, but she does not see what she is looking for. She searches and searches until finally, she sees a lone woman bending over her long body clad in black, crying in silent sobs in the corner of the Hall. She catches a glimpse of blond hair and she knows she has finally found her target. She walks over purposefully and stops when she reaches the elegant woman. She looks at the body the woman is crying over and tears fall from her eyes. She joins the woman on the floor and cries as she comforts the woman beside her. The woman does not object and both women silently cried until they had no tears left to shed. Then the other woman looks up at the young woman crying over her son. Her shining blue eyes twinkled with softness as she turns to speak to the girl.

"He died for you. He's never said anything about you but he chose to die for you. My only son died for you. Because you were in danger, he died for you." She stated quietly, eyes not wavering from her companion. Her voice held no malice as she continues. "He's never looked more at peace, you know. Ever since he was little and his father taught him _things_, he never looked peaceful. I missed the little boy I once knew. But looking at him now, I see that little boy again. So at peace… I think dying for you gave him the sanctity he needed. You don't know why he did it, do you? The wonderment in your eyes says it very clearly dear…"

The younger one shakes her head. Yes, it is true. She didn't know why he did it. She always thought he hated her when he calls her names. She was shocked when he sacrificed for her. But she agrees. Of all the years she's known him, he has never looked more at peace. His fine features are relaxed and there is a small smile urging to grace his face. It is like death brought him the bliss he's been craving for so long.

"No, I don't know why he saved me. I just… I just don't know," she replies softly. Her brown eyes roam from the body to meet the blue ones looking at her. Slowly, the older woman pulls out something from her robes. It is a letter, she thinks. She takes it when it is offered to her. Curiously, she opens the piece of parchment and her eyes begin absorb the words in front of her. There, written in aristocratic script, is a letter to her, for her and only her.

**Dear Hermione,**

**I sit here writing to you now, though I know you will never read it. This letter will never reach your hands for I don't intend to ever hand it to you. Even if I did, considering our history, I highly doubt that you'd pay attention to this letter. If you somehow, by some miracle, read this letter, then it means you survived the war and I cannot be happier. If we both make it out of this alive, then I hope you remember me, even if it's as the tormentor whom you hated during our school days at Hogwarts. I hope you are safe now, as I write this. I hope you are safe and this war will end soon so that you can find your happy ending. Lord knows you deserve to be the happiest person on Earth after what you have gone through. I write this letter now for I fear things will not end well—I fear of going insane from your tortured screams echoing in my head. I have to write it down, in case I forget. I just want to say it all.**

**Hermione, I've admired you since our first year, and loved you since our fourth year. I loved your intelligence, your cleverness, your wit, your kindness, and your compassion. I loved your beautiful eyes, the way they light up when you learn something new; I loved your smile, though it's never been directed at me; I loved your wild curls, the way they bounced when you walked; I loved the way you held your head high, proud of who you are and uncaring what others say. I loved everything about you and I always will.**

**But I know you'll never feel the same way about me. I, your biggest tormentor in school, will forever be hated by you and I am okay with that. I put it upon myself to get your attention, even if it is negative attention so I expect nothing less than loathing from you. I will not ask you to forgive me because I do not deserve your forgiveness but I hope I never get a chance to insult you again. I regret every moment I hurt you and if time could rewind, I would take it all back. I regret I was cowardly and did not protect you from Aunt Bellatrix. All I have to say now is I promise you will not see me again. Not until the war, anyway. After that, whether the results are bad or good, you will not hear of me again. I can promise you that. That is all I want to say, all that I can put on paper. I can only hope that you find your happy ending, Hermione, I really do.**

**Loving you always,**

**Draco**

As she finishes the letter, her eyes fill up in tears once again. She never knew. She silently looks at the body beside her. Why was he so mean when he loved her? He could've told her. But now she knows and she realizes why he saved her. He loves her. She lifts a shaky hand to brush a piece of blond locks from his face and turns to his mother. The lovely woman has a sad smile on her graceful features. She returns the smile and says, "I never knew he loved me…" and tears fall again. The older woman pulls her into a hug and whispers, "Thank you, thank you for teaching him what love is… you were—no, are—the only light in the dark life that his father and I had unintentionally led him down. So thank you, thank you so much." The younger woman doesn't say anything and only nods her head, silent tears streaming down her cheeks. She pulls from the hug, takes the older woman's hand in comfort, and observes the man laying peacefully beside her. She sits there for who knows how long until her friends come to pull her away. She walks away with them and just before she passes through the grand double doors, she turns around to look toward where he lays one last time.

Hermione looks somberly at the spot where Draco is laying. She swears she see a slight shimmer above his body before it quickly disappears. She attributes this to fatigue and turns back to her friends again, whispering a final "goodbye and thank you" to the man she'd known all her life yet hardly truly knew him at all. She knows she can never love him like he did her but now, she will always think of him when this day comes, as her savior, not her tormentor. Little did she know, he is watching her every step of the way, hoping for her safety and happiness for all eternity.

Draco Malfoy, her own guardian angel.


End file.
